


The Inaugural Suit Crisis Of '09

by dynastic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Porn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynastic/pseuds/dynastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and England go suit shopping for Obama's inauguration, and America decides to help England, who has trouble getting his clothes off (except not really) in the dressing room. Things get a little off track.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inaugural Suit Crisis Of '09

**January 16, 2009 / January 17, 2009  
Washington D.C. / London  
10:03 PM / 3:03 AM**

"Old man, I need you to come buy a suit with me."

A long pause.

"... Alfred. _Why the bloody hell are you calling me at three o'clock in the sodding morning_?!"

Alfred lets out a little laugh. "Well," he begins, "I need... a suit. For Monday."

"What? Why the hell do you need— _oh._ " Arthur sits up in his bed, grumbling as he pulls away his sleep mask. "I thought you had four or five—"

"They don't fit," Alfred says sheepishly. "I've, uh. Gained some weight."

Silence from the other line. 

"Arthur?" 

"What?"

"Are you still there?"

"Obviously, you git," Arthur snarls as he flicks on his bedside lamp. "Now, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Help me buy a new one?" Alfred asks hopefully.

"No way. Ask that idiot Francis to help you buy one or something," Arthur replies, rolling his eyes.

"He's busy, I think," Alfred says, uncertain if he was lying or not. "Please, Arthur?"

Arthur groans. "Dammit," he says, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Fine then. I'll help you go buy a new suit when I fly over tomorrow—later today, whatever."

"Sweet!" Alfred replies happily. "I'll call you when you get here then," he said quickly before ending the call.

Flopping back against the pillows, Arthur slaps his phone shut and grumbles once more before tossing the incorrigible little device onto his nightstand. "Stupid git," he murmurs as he buries his face into his pillows again. 

 

**January 17, 2009  
Washington D.C.  
1:23 PM**

Two cups of coffee, one McDonald's Quarter Pounder with cheese and one large fry—as insisted upon by Alfred and his obsession with the 'delicious' menu at the 'fine dining establishment'—and eight hours of one tragically long flight from London to Washington D.C. later, Arthur is utterly exhausted. 

And it's only barely past midday, to boot. In London, it's almost dinner time and Arthur imagines that he's sitting down to some fish and chips from the chips shop around the corner of his flat—

Arthur's entire body jerks to one side, and he wakes up from his mini food fantasy while simultaneously remembering that oh yeah, and _Alfred can't drive to save his life_. 

"That was a red light you just went speeding through!"

"It's fine! I do that all the time," Alfred laughs, swerving around a corner.

"No, it is not bloody fine! It's _against the law_ ," Arthur says indignantly, hoping to God that his seat belt will keep him from being ejaculated through the windshield if they crash, or that his impromptu brunch won't magically come back up either.

Alfred just grins and says, "I like to live dangerously, Iggy. This _is_ America, you know."

Arthur grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. "I'd rather not die, thank you very much," he says bitterly. "Where the hell are we going anyway?"

"To a suit store! Duh," Alfred says cheerfully, taking another sharp turn around a corner. "I already called and said we were coming—oh, I love this song!" Alfred takes a hand off the steering wheel and turns up the volume on the car's radio before beginning to groove, as Arthur has no other word to describe it, in his seat while Katy Perry's Top 40 hit "Hot N Cold" blasts through the speakers.

Oh, and Alfred is _singing_ along now. "'Cause you're hot and you're cold! You're yes and you're no, you're in and you're out, you're up and you're down," Alfred wails, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

Arthur applies his palm to his face, silently wishing for his magical friends—maybe Charles the Unicorn and Sheldon the Fairy—to come and save him from this nightmare.

 

 **January 17, 2009  
Washington D.C. - The Men's Wearhouse  
2:30 PM**

It goes without saying that Arthur isn't nearly as stylish or well-dressed as Francis or Roderich, but he _does_ know where to buy a decent suit and it isn't at a place like The Men's Sodding Wearhouse. However, Arthur isn't going to protest, even though there are ten other places in Washington D.C. alone where Alfred can buy a well-crafted suit, since this isn't exactly his problem and he's here for—wait, why is he here again?

Oh right, because Alfred is a git and can't do things himself apparently.

"What color should I wear? Red? Blue? Green?" Alfred asks, beginning to rifle through the racks of ties. "Tie dye?"

"Tie dye? Who in their right mind would wear a tie dye colored tie?" Arthur makes a face as Alfred holds up the most hideous looking tie that he's ever seen. "Good God, put that back."

Alfred shrugs and puts the ugly tie back, rifling through tie racks once more. "I should probably match my new boss's tie or something." 

Arthur tries very, _very_ hard not to roll his eyes and merely leans against a display of dress pants. "I don't bloody know, Alfred. Maybe you should call him and ask what color he's wearing?" Arthur snaps coolly at the other male. 

"Good idea! I'll call him right now!" Alfred says, pulling his BlackBerry out from his pocket and clicking on the number. "I have him on speed dial," he says as he holds the phone his ear. 

_Now_ Arthur is rolling his eyes. "He's probably in meetings, isn't he?"

"Shush! It's ringing!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Alfred—"

"Dammit, it went to his voice mail," Alfred says, frowning now. He ends the call and stows his phone in his pants pocket again. "I'll just call him later—"

"I thought you needed a suit _now_ ," Arthur interrupts, folding his arms over his chest and _not_ pouting, no. 

Alfred runs a hand through his hair, sighing. "Well, I do. I need to match with my new boss though!" 

"You should have done this earlier then! You knew this was coming up," Arthur says, raising his voice just a little too high.

People are staring at them now, shirts in their hands and eyebrows cocking curiously at the two strange men bickering at each other like they're some married couple. Oh, goddammit.

"Is there a problem, gentleman?"

Arthur turns his head and notices the sales clerk standing behind him. "No, there isn't a problem," he says, scowling a little. "Alfred over there just can't make up his mind—"

"I'm going to go with the red one!" Alfred exclaims, picking up a red tie and holding it up to examine it properly. "I look good in red," he says, grinning into the little mirror as he holds up the tie to shirt.

Arthur blinks, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets now and thanking that invisible deity in the sky for at least moving them along somewhat. "Well, did you hear that? He's going to go with the red one," he says pointedly, glancing at the sales clerk and noting the name tag on his shirt. " _Leonard_."

The sales clerk ignores Arthur and simply smiles before walking over to Alfred. "That's quite a nice tie you've picked out, sir. May I recommend buying a second tie and a suit to go with it? We're having a special today where you can buy two suits and get the second one for one hundred dollars off—"

"Whoa, seriously? That's way cheap!" Alfred's grin widens and he nods at the sales clerk. "Sounds good to me then," he says to the clerk before craning his neck in Arthur's direction. "Hey, Iggy. The man says we can buy two suits—"

"I heard him the first time, Alfred," Arthur says, gritting his teeth a little, half-wondering how long his patience will last before he becomes homicidal. 

Alfred beams and grabs Arthur's hand, dragging him off towards the suits section. "Great! Let's go look at suits then!" 

"O-Oi!" Arthur protesting, fighting the urge to apply his palm to his face again. If picking a tie out takes this long, picking out suits will probably be an _eternity_.

 

**January 17, 2009  
Washington D.C. - The Men's Wearhouse Still  
2:45 PM**

"You have been staring at the same four suits for the past _half hour_. Can't you make up your bloody mind already?" Arthur asks ardently, pulling out his cell phone to check the time for the fourth time now.

Alfred frowns and glances behind at the other man. "Hey, we've got time, haven't we? It needs to be the perfect suit, alright," he says, turning back to the suits in front of him and holding them up again to compare. "This is kinda important for me. I need to look good."

Now, this is the part where Arthur feels a bit _guilty_ and he shifts uncomfortably against the display that he's currently leaning against, feeling drowsy from the jet lag. Technically, and Arthur knows it, this is probably one of the, if not _the_ , most important event in American history. Hell, even the world's history. Millions upon millions of people across the globe would be watching, or listening to depending on the location, Alfred's new boss get sworn into office. Plus, as much as Arthur dislikes to say it, Alfred's politics makes the rest of the world go 'round, and while he has his own hand in the some of the matter, Alfred has so much more riding on things than himself.

"I know, I know," Arthur says, perhaps a little more sheepishly than he liked but sounding sympathetic nonetheless. "It's just that you've been staring at those same four suits for awhile now and you haven't made up your mind—"

Alfred turns around suddenly, putting the suits in his hands down on top of one of the display tables. "Then why don't you buy yourself a suit or something? I don't need two suits anyway," he says. 

Staring at the other male for a moment, Arthur furrowing his eyebrows a bit and then sighing. "Fine then, I'll buy the other suit and then we can get the deal," he replies, unfolding his arms and walking over to the various suit racks, beginning to leaf through them. 

 

**January 17, 2009  
Washington D.C. - The Men's Sodding Wearhouse Still  
3:00 PM**

Calvin Klein, Versini, Sean John, Jones New York, Kenneth Cole—brand names Arthur thinks seem familiar. Vaguely familiar. Alright, Arthur can't lie anymore. He rarely goes suit shopping anymore, so it's not like he keeps up with the latest styles or designers, really. Alright, mostly. He likes to keep in check with the trends of the weeks occasionally. (Who knew one piece jumpers would be back in style so soon?)

Nonetheless, Arthur digresses and picks out a suit from the rack—a Jones New York vested suit in black pinstripes with a green dress shirt and gray tie. It's rather slick looking, to be quite frank.

"I'm going to try this on," Arthur says, glancing over at Alfred. 

"Right then. Have fun with that." Alfred nods and then goes back to look through dress shirts. 

Forgoing a response, Arthur wanders over to the dressing rooms and then happily shuts himself inside one of them. Placing the suit on the hook, he pulls out his cell phone from his pocket, holding back a yawn and flips it open. 

"One new text message. How lovely," he reads quietly to himself as he opens up the text message and scans the tiny text on the screen.

_Arthur—  
Where are you?  
—Gordon_

"Oh, bugger. I thought I messaged him this morning," Arthur says, frowning at the message before typing a reply back.

_Gordon—  
I'm suit shopping. Is it important?  
—Arthur_

Arthur clicks 'send' and then puts his phone away in his pocket once more, half-hoping _his_ boss doesn't text him back anytime soon. Glancing at the suit on the hook, he sighs and starts to divest himself of his clothes. 

After getting about halfway through tugging off the shirt underneath his hoodie, Arthur's pants start vibrating and he grumbles again, yanking his shirt off and shoving a hand into his pocket again. He sighs, flipping open the phone again and reads the message.

_Why are you suit shopping? I need your help right now with the bank interest rates crisis._

"Well, too bloody bad, Gordon," Arthur murmurs as he types a reply, sitting down in the little plush chair beside the wall hook. 

_Alfred needed a suit. I can't help you right now. Sorry._

"There," Arthur says as he presses the 'send' button once more and shutting the phone before depositing it into his pocket.

"Are you talking to yourself?" 

Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin, eyes darting to the stall's door and then sighs inwardly. "Don't do that! What the devil do you want?"

"Oh, so you _were_ talking to yourself."

"I was texting my boss, for your information," Arthur grumbles loudly, imagining the dopey grin on Alfred's face right now as his temple throbs just so. "What do you want anyway?"

"Can I come in?"

"No, you cannot come in—DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!" 

The door opens, the fluorescent lighting filtering into the dim dressing room, and there's Alfred with the same four suits from before in his hand with a smirk on his stupid, dimpled face.

"Do you need help?" Alfred asks, closing the door behind him. 

And for the first time all day, Arthur's cheeks flare up a bright pink color and he stands up, turning away from Alfred to bend over and pick up his clothes. "I don't need your bloody help," he says, ignoring the heat rising in his face. "I can dress myself, you know."

Alfred leans lightly against the door, watching Arthur's movements. "Well, I can never tell with you," he says jokingly, grinning. "You seem like the kind of person who wouldn't know how to wear a suit properly."

"Speak for yourself!" Arthur stands up again and folds up his shirt neatly before placing it on the seat of the chair next to the large hanging mirror on the one wall. "I own several suits, I'll have you know," he says defensively, glaring at Alfred.

"Yeah, from like, the 70s or something," Alfred retorts playfully, hanging up his four suits on the other wall hook. "You dress like an old man."

Well, there goes Arthur's patience.

"I do not dress like an old man! See, I'm wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a damn hoodie" Arthur says as he throws the wrinkled hoodie at Alfred's face and moves over to the other wall hook with his suit on it. "Christ, you are so bloody ignorant sometimes."

Alfred just laughs like it's all some kind of joke and folds his arms over his chest. 

"Don't laugh, you git!" Arthur growls, shooting a look at the other male before taking the shirt off the hanger and unbuttoning it hastily. "I need to try on this—"

"Shouldn't you take off your pants too? To try on the suit pants?" Alfred asks, smirking at Arthur and moving closer to him, too close in fact. 

Arthur's cheeks flare once more and he looks down, busying himself with the buttons off the shirt. "I'll take them off in a moment—Alfred, what are you doing?"

One of Alfred's fingers tips Arthur's chin up, forcing the other male to look into his deep, blue eyes and devious smile, while his other hand snakes around Arthur's waist and tugs him closer. "Taking off your pants for you," he says slyly before pressing his lips to Arthur's lips, eyes fluttering closed. 

Initially, Arthur wants to shove Alfred away because really, it's completely unnecessary for him to be in the dressing room anyway. Not to mention that they're looking for suits for _Alfred_ in the first place, so the fact that he's in a dressing room and trying on a suit for himself makes the situation just a little more ridiculous overall. Oh yes, and there's the matter with his boss and the whole problem with the bank interest rates going on back home. Add in the jet lag from an eight hour flight and potential indigestion from the grossest fast food joint on the planet, and it's the icing on the cake, really.

Of course, it's rather difficult to bring this all to a proper light when one's _former colony_ (among other things) is kissing one's lips utterly senseless inside the dressing room of a men's clothing store while one is half naked. Really difficult, actually.

So, Arthur digresses once more and kisses Alfred back hotly, dropping the dress shirt in his hand onto the floor and weaves his now empty hand around the back of the other man's neck, pulling him closer. 

Alfred hums into the kiss and parts his lips to deepen it, sliding his tongue smoothly into Arthur's mouth. It's warm and delicious and there's a faint taste of coffee lingering on his tongue, and oh yes, it's very pleasant. Very pleasant, _indeed_. 

Soon, and Arthur barely takes the time to notice, and his back is pressed against the wall while Alfred's hips grind against his own, eliciting moans from both parties in between all the kisses. Arthur's fingers find purchase in Alfred's silky hair while his other hand shoves away at the jacket currently obscuring, well, lots of things that he wants to touch quite badly. 

Without pulling away completely, Alfred shrugs off his jacket, letting it pool on the floor around his shoes. Then he slips a knee between Arthur's slightly spread legs before biting down gently on the other man's lower lip, and then brings a hand to rest against the wall for leverage. 

Alfred murmurs something inaudible and grins dirtily against Arthur's lips as rubs his growing erection over the other man's thigh.

Arthur wriggles just so against the wall, his pants tight and lips swollen red now. "There's people outside!" he hisses, opening his eyes slightly.

"They won't hear us," Alfred assures him, kissing him again and continuing to rub himself against Arthur's thigh. "A little danger doesn't hurt no one, does it?" he asks.

Well, certainly Arthur has been in stranger and even more uncompromising situations in public, but now that Alfred is practically _grinding_ himself over his leg, it's impossible to ignore. After all, it's perfectly acceptable to get a little off track once in awhile, isn't it? 

"No, I suppose not," Arthur begins, nipping at Alfred's lower lip. "But you still haven't taken off my pants yet," he says, smirking just a bit too devilishly. 

Chuckling, Alfred's cheeks flush pink as he drops a hand to the Arthur's belt and starts to undo it. "What do you think I'm doing right now?" he asks, grinning while he teasingly runs a hand over his bulge, making the other man's hips buck against his palm while a low groan escapes from his throat.

"Well, hurry it up," Arthur warns, voice hoarser now and his breathing unsteady as arches his back off the wall into Alfred's hand.

"I should just go slow because you're being impatient," Alfred murmurs teasingly, trailing his lips down Arthur's collarbone, littering the skin with kisses and nips while his fingers fumble with the button and zipper. 

Arthur can't help but whine now, keening underneath Alfred's ministrations and fuck, he's so tired right now but those pink lips feel far too nice on his neck. " _Gods_ , Alfred," he hisses as he hears the sweet sound of his zipper coupling with the rush of hot and cold air at the same time.

Pressing his palm against Arthur's boxer-covered erection, Alfred bites down gently on his neck, drawing out gasps and groans once more. "Heh," he breathes, running his tongue over the reddened mark painted across his neck now. 

Well, that completely sets Arthur off, and he _yanks_ on Alfred's hair, fingers knotting in between the locks of smooth, blond hair before sliding his free hand down the other man's chest, making sure to grate his digits over the hardening nipples poking through his t-shirt. 

Alfred gasps and inhales sharply, pulling his lips off Arthur's neck while his hand slips slightly from its perch on his groin. "Hnngh," he manages before quickly peeling away the other man's boxers and curling his fingers around Arthur's erection. 

Bucking once more, Arthur slides his hand down to Alfred's groin, cupping him just a little before beginning to deftly undo his pants. Pushing his belt out of the way, tossing that damnable skull belt buckle out of the way, and unbutton the shiny button, Arthur's licks his lips and tugs the other man down for another kiss with a wrench of the hair. 

"Mmngh," Alfred moans into the kiss, parting his lips and shoving his tongue hotly into Arthur's mouth again. His hand works Arthur's cock slowly in probably the most tortuous manner ever.

Arthur doesn't take that, of course. "Faster," he growls against Alfred's lips, unzipping the other man's jeans and thrusting his hand inside his boxers. He feels out his cock briefly, and listens to the gasps and low groans slip out from Alfred's lips. 

Alfred laughs lowly, kissing Arthur's lips again while he squeezes his cock and moves his hand faster, evincing delicious groans and sighs. Breaking their kiss, he opens his eyes slightly and begins to say, "I have stuff—"

"Good, get it out then— _nngh fuck_ ," Arthur interrupts hotly, bucking his hips as he rubs his thumb over the top of Alfred's cock.

Removing his other hand from its place on the dressing room wall, Alfred digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out a tiny bottle of lubricant. 

Arthur decides not to take a moment to wonder why Alfred carries around a bottle of lubricant with him, opting to let go of Alfred's erection for a moment to take off his pants and boxers instead. Kicking them both away, he makes a grab for Alfred's shirt and tugs upward on it. 

Stepping back just slightly, Alfred pulls off his t-shirt and tosses it aside, jeans pooling around his upper thighs now. He uncaps the lubricant, squeezing some onto his fingers. "Turn around," he mutters.

"I know," Arthur growls, turning himself around and splaying his hands against the wall for leverage while he spreads his legs, lowering his hips slightly. Then several cool, slick fingers prod at his entrance, rubbing the tender skin slowly before one finger inserts itself inside, burrowing and then thrusting out again. Arthur tries to stall his hips from bucking but doesn't hold back the moans and gasps.

Languidly, Alfred adds two more fingers to the one already moving inside Arthur, stretching him just enough because his own patience is beginning to fade now. Alfred practically counts the seconds as he drives his fingers in and out of Arthur before eventually pulling them out, slicking up his cock quickly and tossing the lubricant bottle on the floor. Then he ruts himself against the cleft of Arthur's ass, rubbing himself there for a moment before sliding his cock inside with a low groan. 

Arthur shuts his eyes, bracing himself while Alfred pushes inside him, emitting a low moan. " _Yes_ ," he hisses quietly, the noise strangled by the wall in front of him and Alfred behind him. 

Wrapping a hand around Arthur's cock and pushing himself inside completely, absorbing the tightness and the heat, Alfred begins to move slowly at first. He buries his face against Arthur's shoulder, pressing himself against the other man and savors the sweet, warm skin to skin contact. 

They start to move faster, rocking against each other while Alfred creates the rhythm and Arthur follows it, dancing along with him. There's strained, wet kisses on his sweaty shoulder and the hot hand hand on his cock that tempts him to release and gasp in pleasure. It becomes unbearable soon after, pushing Arthur just over the edge and he comes, spilling himself all over Alfred's hand and the wall too. 

Not long after, Alfred's body tenses and he comes too, moaning lowly and tiredly. He thrusts once, twice and then pulls out, come leaking all over his leg and his cock as well as the obvious other place. 

Arthur's legs are ready to give out beneath him but once Alfred moves away, feeling all too full and dizzy, he straightens weakly and turns around to look at Alfred.

Alfred is digging through his jacket pocket for tissues to clean up with, but to no avail, he comes up short and frowns. "Right then," he says to himself quietly before looking at Arthur. "Are you still thinking of trying on that suit?"

Staring at Alfred blankly, Arthur's face turns a lovely shade of red again and he throws the other man's t-shirt in his face. "Git."

 

**January 17, 2009  
Washington D.C. - Arthur's Hotel Room  
5:34 PM**

Arthur closes his eyes, absorbing the wonderfulness of a proper bed with downy pillows and sheets and an Alfred-less room, imagining that room service will be up in any moment with his dinner of amazingly delicious fish and chips. Oh yes, it's utterly blissful.

Until he hears his cell phone vibrating rather loudly on the nightstand next to the bed, and he opens his eyes, grumbling while he reaches over to pick it up. Yawning, he flips it open and reads the text message.

_Arthur—  
Well, I hope you didn't get too sidetracked while suit shopping. I need you home by Sunday morning at the latest. We have things to do, you know. Cheers!  
—Gordon_

Arthur stares at the tiny screen. "Oh, bloody hell."

 

**January 20, 2009  
London - Prime Minister Gordon Brown's Office  
5:15 PM**

"Arthur, are you paying attention?" 

Whirling around from the table he stands near, Arthur looks over at his boss and carries his cup of tea and scone with him as he sits down in one of the many cushy chairs in his boss's office. "Yes, I'm paying attention. I was getting myself some tea," he says as he glances over in the direction of the large television screen with Senator—nay, _President_ of the United States Barack Obama standing behind a podium with a crowd of thousands before him.

He smiles and brings his cup of tea to his lips, eyes refusing to leave the screen for a second. After taking a sip, Arthur sets it down on the side table beside him, and he's grinning now as President Obama begins to speak, addressing his citizens warmly, honestly. It's only at that moment that he notices Alfred standing just off to the left of President Obama in his new suit and tie, beaming proudly. 

Arthur chuckles to himself—Alfred _does_ look good in red.


End file.
